Vestige of Power

by Sara Blackard

  Vestige Of Power

  Sara Blackard

  Copyright © 2020 Sara Blackard

  All rights reserved.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes.

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  All scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version, KJV, public domain.

  Want to know how it all began? Find out what propelled Hunter to the mountains and back through time by signing up for Sara Blackard’s newsletter and receive Mission Out of Control, the Vestige in Time prequel for FREE.

  Chapter 1

  April 7, 1852

  Middle of the Rocky Mountains

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  Joseph Thomas looked out across the swollen creek behind his trapping cabin at the purple, jagged mountains that jutted up above the aspen trees, still naked from winter’s long hold. He loved the Rocky Mountains he called home. Though many ventured further north, his home deep in the mountains just south of the Oregon Trail suited him. He breathed the crisp early morning air, letting out a contented sigh, though something unknown caused him a sense of unease that stirred within his spirit. The sun prepared to mount its daily ride across the vast blue sky, soaring Joseph’s anticipation to new heights.

  Joseph believed himself a man up to beaver, able to hold his own in any situation. Born thirty-one years before and raised within these rocky slopes, not much caused him concern. Even when a grizzly attacked him when he was twenty-three years old, Joseph had remained calm. When the burly thing became bent on eating him, he killed it with his hunting knife, stitched his own chest up where the grizz got a good swipe in, and roasted the best bear steak he’d ever eaten over the open fire. When the Crow warriors captured him while Joseph explored the northern mountains the year his feet got itchy at twenty-five, he’d used his good looks to get one of the young maidens to cut his ties. Joseph ran for days through three feet of snow over the mountain passes and miry fields of early summer mud. When he’d finally made it home and friends asked where’d he’d been traveling to the last eight months, he’d shrugged it off as “wandering around.” So the fact that some unknown anxiety had him acting like his drawers swam in fleas made him wonder what God had in store for him.

  Joseph adjusted the haversack slung across his chest, heavy with his latest haul of gold from his mine he’d stumbled upon a few seasons ago. God had blessed him when He’d led him to take shelter in that hidden cave from the loco windstorm that had ripped through the forest, uprooting trees and hurling hail. After Joseph had lit a fire to dry off, he’d noticed something glittering at him from the cave walls. He never put much stock in chasing fleeting dreams of gold and riches, but that cave made him the richest man west of the Mississippi in an instant, though no one knew it but him and God. No use flaunting news like that around. There remained enough gold in that cave that he’d be digging for years if he wanted to. For now, he took it out one bag at a time every now and then, so no one would catch wind.

  Joseph walked along the bank of the creek contemplating catching a trout or two for breakfast. The sweet song of a warbler flitting across the trees reminded him that summer approached fast. Then the bank gave way, tossing his stomach into his throat as he fell into the raging creek. Suddenly, the heavy blessing of gold became the weight of death.

  Joseph slammed into hard ground with a grunt and a crash. He pushed onto his elbow expecting water to pour from his buckskin clothes but instead the smell of refuse assaulted his nose and clattering discordance of rushing carriages, shouting people, and factories bruised his ears. Quick footsteps approached, so he shook his head to clear out the cobwebs and pushed to his knees. He still gripped his rifle in his right hand, the weight of the gold still clung to his side, but he had somehow landed in a bustling city rather than the roaring creek.

  “Oh, my gracious Lord in heaven.” A short, stout elderly man wearing a clergy collar and tidy black clothes rushed down the alley towards Joseph. “My son, are you all right?”

  The pastor’s eyes widened as he glanced up and down Joseph. Joseph peered at the end of the alley and saw people walking to and fro in their fancy suits and fluffy dresses. Joseph supposed he struck an exotic and powerful figure in his buckskin pants and coat that over time became sculpted to his muscled body, his long red hair pulled back into a leather thong, and his beard long and scruffy.

  Joseph stood the rest of the way, swaying a bit in confusion. He looked at the tall stone buildings squeezed on either side of him and the blood drained from his face. The old man hurried to his side, placing an arm around his back and holding Joseph up so he didn’t tumble back into the refuse.

  “I believe I am.” Joseph faltered as he watched wagons and carriages rushing by the end of the alley.

  “You could use a bracing cup of coffee, if you ask me. I’m Pastor Timothy Hudson, at your service. Why don’t you come across the street with me to my church, and we can get you rejuvenated and chat about what’s ailing you?” The diminutive man’s words rushed out as he grunted with Joseph’s weight.

  “That sounds mighty fine, thank you,” Joseph answered, glad for the kindness and opportunity to gather his bearings. “I’m Joseph Thomas.”

  Joseph allowed Pastor Hudson to usher him across the bustling street and into the church nestled in the noise and filth. He figured a church was better than most places to work out what had happened to him, plus if he couldn’t escape this old man if he had to pull foot and run away, he probably didn’t deserve to. As they approached the door, a tall man dressed in finery and built like an ox stopped beside them.

  “You all right, Pastor Hudson? Do you need help getting rid of this man?” the man asked, spearing Joseph with a look of disgust as he scanned him from head to toe. Joseph glanced down at himself and realized his buckskin pants and coat with their missing fringe and well-used wear didn’t fit in with his surroundings any more than he did.

  “No, no, Mr. Miller. My friend Mr. Thomas just needs a bracing cup of coffee to set him to rights,” Pastor Hudson replied, giving Mr. Miller a pointed look.

  “Well, in that case, have a good day,” Mr. Miller replied as he nodded his head and continued down the street.

  Once Mr. Miller walked out of hearing, Pastor Hudson explained, “Now normally I’m not one to shoo someone off so rudely, Mr. Thomas, but some of my parishioners can be overprotective of me. I guess in my old age they’ve forgotten I lived as a missionary to the tribes in northern Mexico. A little adventure now and then isn’t going to kill me.”

  Joseph smirked at the pastor’s gumption, hoping the man’s sense of adventure would extend to Joseph’s predicament. Pastor Hudson walked through the door, motioning Joseph to follow. As Joseph wiped his feet, he read the sign that stated First English Evangelical Lutheran Church affixed to the side of the door. He looked around one more time, noting the street signs Seventh Avenue and Montour Way. He recognized none of it. Pastor Hudson pulled the door closed behind Joseph, dulling the cacophony that threatened to drive him crazy. How anyone lived with such racket baffled him.

  As Pastor Hudson led Joseph into a small office, he looked around at the impressive church. He’d only ever worshipped in his home with his parents before they passed or around a campfire with other mountain men. Now and then a man of God would travel through and Joseph would pick his brain with all the questions his daily readings collected, often to the amusement and bewilderment of the recipient.

  “Sit, sit,” Pastor Hudson shooed Joseph into a cushioned chair while he pulled a cord next to the door. “Now what brings you to my neighborhood?”

  Joseph placed his haversack on the floor by his feet and propped his r
ifle against the wall behind him but within reach. He brushed his pants off before sitting down on the soft cushion.

  “This is going to sound loco,” Joseph started, wondering if he’d have to make a run for it before they had him thrown in an asylum, “but it’s the truth, not a bit fabricated.”

  Pastor Hudson nodded in encouragement.

  “Well,” Joseph continued, running his hand through his hair with a nervous jerk, “just a few minutes ago, right before you found me, I was walking along a creek in the Rocky Mountains, when the bank gave out from underneath me. Instead of drowning in the raging, snowmelt waters, I landed in that alley across the way.”

  Joseph stared into Pastor Hudson’s dark brown eyes as they got rounder and rounder. The door opened, followed by an older woman wearing a crisp, white apron. She gasped when she spied Joseph, running her eyes up and down his unkempt form before turning to the pastor with eyebrows raised in question.

  “Martha,” Pastor Hudson said, not taking his eyes off Joseph, “we will need the strongest coffee you make, please.”

  “Yes, pastor,” she said before rushing away, the door closing with a sharp slam.

  Pastor Hudson leaned forward, bracing his arms upon his desk and staring at Joseph. “Are you telling me thirty minutes ago you walked in the far reaches of the West, and you suddenly appeared in Pittsburgh on the other side of the continent?”

  “Pittsburgh, huh,” Joseph repeated, glad to have a part of the puzzle answered. “Never traveled east of the Mississippi before now. Reckon that’s the quickest way to travel, though not the best on my nerves. I don’t understand how it happened, but I promise you it did. One second I fell, most likely to my demise, the next the dregs of a city surrounded me.”

  “I wonder,” Pastor Hudson pondered with a murmur, a knock at the door and Martha pushing a cart in interrupting him.

  As she poured coffee for Joseph and the pastor and served cookies on delicate china plates, Joseph watched Pastor Hudson as he rubbed his chin deep in thought. Joseph’s heart pounded worse than the time he’d gotten caught in the middle of a stampeding herd of bison. He scolded himself on his loss of control as he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Of course, this landed far outside of situations he’d ever experienced or even heard of. He wanted to push sweet Martha out of the room on her cart so he could listen to what Pastor Hudson mulled over in his head.

  When she’d finally left, and the door closed, Pastor Hudson looked Joseph straight in the eyes. “Have you ever read the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch in the Bible?”

  “That’s the story that teaches about following God’s leading and the importance of baptism,” Joseph said, remembering the gist of the story, but not the details. “Doesn’t Philip meet the Ethiopian after God told him to walk down the road to nowhere?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s the story, and you’re right about following God’s leading and baptism and all, but you’re missing the part that might pertain to your situation,” Pastor Hudson said as he pulled the large Bible from the corner of his desk over and started thumbing through it, mumbling as he read. “Here it is. Verse thirty-nine of Acts, chapter eight reads, ‘And when they were coming up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord caught away Philip, that the eunuch saw him no more; and he went on his way rejoicing. But Philip was found at Azotus.’” He peered at Joseph over his glasses. “That’s around twenty miles away.”

  “So what you’re saying is that God moved me here like he moved Philip?” Joseph watched the pastor’s face shine in joyous amazement.

  “Exactly,” Pastor Hudson declared, sitting back in his chair and taking a deep drink of his coffee. “Unless you’re inebriated, then the coffee will help sober you up.”

  “I’m not drunk. Never have been, never will be. And what I told you is the truth. Why would God bring me all the way back here? It's thousands of miles from my mountains to here,” Joseph exclaimed.

  “Now, son.” The pastor tsked, shaking his head. “Do you honestly think a few thousand miles matter to the Creator of all time and space? Distance is relative to Him. If He could move Philip twenty miles, He can move you around the entire world if He wanted to. Your job now is to figure out why He moved you here, because I can assure you, He doesn’t do miraculous feats for His own amusement.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Well, when I was a missionary in Mexico, the villagers told stories of La Dama Azul, or the woman in blue. When I asked around to find out who they were talking about, the villagers explained that she was a nun in Spain that would appear to the people of the area I was in. She prepared the people there for the missionaries that would soon be arriving. At first, I didn’t believe it. How could a nun who lived in Spain possibly appear halfway around the world? But when I talked to the priests in the area, they verified that it had happened and, in fact, showed me other instances in their church history where other saints had been taken to different locations through miraculous venues.

  “Then, that got me to thinking. If there were records of miracles like Phillip’s occurring throughout history, did other accounts of miracles exist? I started researching through missionary accounts and church history, and the more I searched, the more I found. So, yes, Mr. Thomas, I can be sure, and I am beyond thrilled that God has allowed me to be a part of it. Hebrews 13:8 says, ‘Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.’”

  Joseph grabbed the delicate china cup and downed the scorching, strong coffee in one gulp. The idea God would have something important for him to do awed him. Sure, he’d always followed God’s teachings as best he could and tried to be a light to those he came across in his wanderings, but to be used to this extent? He never fathomed it possible. Shoot, until an hour ago he didn’t imagine miracles of biblical proportions happened anymore. The more he thought about it, the more at peace he became and his thoughts locked into place.

  He looked across at the wise man sitting behind the desk and said, “First I’d like you to pray for me if you don’t mind, then I’ll need you to direct me to the best bank in town. If I’m here for a purpose, I better lighten the load.”

  After a robust prayer, directions to the Pittsburgh Trust and Savings Company a quick six-minute walk away, and a promise to fill Pastor Hudson in on the adventure when he returned for his rifle, Joseph walked onto the busy street but not before he deposited a large nugget in the offering box.

  Chapter 2

  Joseph walked into The Pittsburgh Trust and Savings Company ten minutes later. He’d taken the walk there a little more leisurely than normal, cataloguing what he saw as he strolled. The men of the upper class dressed in fancy suits made of bright colors and patterns that contrasted each other, which Joseph thought looked ghastly. He was all for adding some foofarraw to one’s attire, but these men went too far.

  The citizens he’d passed had given him a wide range of looks and reactions. The young ladies had smiled at him in appreciation, batting their eyes and looking coy while the matrons had gasped in shocked indignation or fright and pulled their younger counterparts to the opposite side of the street. Most of the men he’d passed had reacted similarly, either nodding at him in respect or cowering until they passed. He’d have to get a change of clothes and spiff up a bit if he wanted to fit in and not draw too much attention to himself.

  Joseph scanned the bank’s interior as he walked to the man sitting at a desk, shuffling papers to and fro like he kept tab of the Pharoah’s accounts or something. Joseph stood before the desk and waited while the fellow wrote notes and muttered to himself. Joseph cleared his throat, causing the man to look up at him with a look of frustration, his pen pausing in midair.

  “May I help you?” the ingrate toned in a nasal voice, looking Joseph up and down in question.

  “I’d like to speak with the manager,” Joseph replied.

  “Do you have an appointment?” He sneered.

  “Nope, just landed in town.” Joseph chuckled to himself.

>   The man rolled his eyes and huffed, flipping through a calendar, causing Joseph to about read the clerk a page from the Good Book. “Mr. Wright is much too busy to see you, but I can put you on his schedule two weeks from tomorrow.”

  Joseph squinted his eyes. He’d never experienced such outright disrespect as what exuded off this man. In the wilderness, one earned disrespect. Sure, there were some bad apples no one wanted to be around, but those men kept to themselves. They were not employed to greet customers at the door. Most men he knew would rip this fellow in half for his attitude, then put him back together to make sure he learned the lesson well.

  Joseph slammed the heavy haversack on the desk, letting it open a few inches to reveal the gold hiding within. He leaned over the desk with all the power he’d built in the rugged mountains, boring a hole within the rude man’s eyes. Joseph looked to his sack, making sure the man’s eyes followed.

  When the clerk’s eyes lit up in surprise, Joseph whispered low and dangerous, “I’ll be speaking with the manager now and in private. Run along and get him for me.”

  The man spilled out of his chair, mumbling something about Joseph taking a seat while he fetched the manager. He returned mere minutes later and ushered Joseph up the stairs to an office that sat at the end of the hall. The clerk knocked and opened the door. After seeing Joseph in, Joseph swore he saw the man bow to him as he backed away.

  Joseph sighed, hating the fact that money made a man worthy. To Joseph’s way of thinking, money was only a visage of power. Power came from one’s character and how they walked through this life with others. He vowed to himself that as soon as he’d done what God had sent him here to do and got back to his mountains, no one but his family would know about the riches he dug from the earth. Gold held no real meaning in life anyway, just made things easier.